


Silent Season

by Syrenslure



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 20:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrenslure/pseuds/Syrenslure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holidays can help us to discover what is important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Season

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Stargate story. It takes place roughly in the seventh season, though there are no spoilers beyond the major ones. As long as you know the who and what of Stargate, and what changes Daniel went through in Seasons 5,6, and 7, you'll be fine here. The rest is my imagination.
> 
> Beta(s): Much thanks to Tripoli and Mama Beast, who looked over this last year, and provided many valuable suggestions.

"It's cold," Daniel thought then rolled his eyes. It was December, it was Colorado and there was eighteen inches of now on the ground. Of course, it was cold. He looked over at Jack's dormant fireplace and thought longingly of a blazing fire.

He would have to wait for Jack to get back from the store, where he had gone to stock up on fresh food. Canned soup and stale crackers hadn't appealed to either of them, and that was about the extent of Jack's pantry at the moment. It had been a busy month for SG-1.

There was a time when he would have made himself at home - lit the fire, relaxed on the couch, explored the new paperbacks on Jack's bookcase, but not any more. He was no longer comfortable with that idea, and no longer as sure of the open invitation he had previously enjoyed. "Perhaps it expired," he thought. "Offer good while supplies last. One per customer." ... or maybe it was just a limited lifetime warranty. It certainly seemed to be strained with each additional death on their parts - ok, mostly his - until they had come to this. Barely more than strangers, or worse, they were like those people you met at reunions - people you had known so well, with whom you had spent all of your time, with whom you had been intimate friends, and now struggled to find common ground, a way to fill those awkward pauses in conversation. Now, that was Jack and him.

Daniel acknowledged that a lot of it was his fault. He wasn't the same and he wasn't sure that it was a good change. The person that he had been was dead. Literally. He didn't know if he could go back, even though he had come back. His life hadn't been waiting for him, and neither had his friends. They had moved on, mourned him, and gotten past his death in their own ways. He hadn't. It was like he was a shade, a shadow of the man he had been, or some eerie doppelganger that had tried to step back into his old life, only to find that it wasn't there.

He stepped up close to the fireplace, as if seeking the phantom warmth that lingered there like a memory, a ghost. Jack had placed pine boughs on the mantle, and Daniel reached up to touch them. He rubbed a few of the needles between his fingers and smelled the clean, fresh pine, felt the sticky, pungent sap coat his fingertips.

It was a haunting reminder of Christmases past. Each year they had done this - shared a quiet holiday together, with the sparse, natural decorations that reminded them of the season, but were not overt or tacky reminders of other times or places. Those things were unnecessary and probably more than they could stand. The first year after he had returned from Abydos, they had done this. They had decided to spend a quiet holiday together, spurning the commercial and overdone aspects of the season.

It had been his first year after losing Sha're, the third since Jack had lost Charlie. Neither of them had truly wanted any celebration. Each felt they were doing it for the other, and yet finding their own comfort. They had stripped it down to its barest bones, a pagan celebration between fellow warriors. They had, in their own way, held a quiet vigil, as was done in times past for the return of the light, the better days that were sure to come, and tried to recognize the hope inherent in the season. They had no joyous feast, no gaudily wrapped gifts beneath the tree. Instead, they had wine and a fire, pine boughs, a wreath, and a tree, undecorated, except for the single star on its tallest branch.

Originally, they hadn't decorated it at all. The tree itself had been a concession, a wild idea that Jack had brought home, and then not known what to do with. A sappy night watching the black and white version of _It's a Wonderful Life_ , while drinking several bottles of wine, had them talking about stars. Daniel didn't remember who had suggested it, but they had agreed; the star represented home to them.

The simple star on the top of the tree was like the one that Jack had showed him one summer night on the roof. He told him that it was Abydos, or as close as he could figure with his telescope and limited understanding of gate travel. To be honest, it hadn't really mattered to either of them, whether it was or not. Daniel didn't even know if Jack had known this before or why he might have, or if he had made it up on the spot. It was a symbol, as much as the clear plastic shape on top of the tree.

The stars led them out into the universe, and the stars guided them home. Astrology might not be a valid science, but the stars did guide and influence their lives. The astronomy section of the newspaper had led to him deciphering the code of the gate, and the constellations represented in its symbols allowed them to use it. Their single star represented that to them.

It was a tradition - one they hadn't known they were beginning, and yet no less rich for it. Daniel wondered if Jack had continued it last year, on his own. Had he counted Daniel among those who had fallen and needed to be remembered? Had he kept the silent vigil on his own? Did he remember him, and compare Daniel's ascended form to the star that he saw?

He couldn't ask. He wouldn't, but he hoped so. He hoped that Jack had found some peace and hope in the long, dark nights of the season. Daniel hoped, that wherever Jack had been last year, and whatever he had done, that Jack had kept his silent vigil of the season. Part of him was reassured to think that Jack would continue to do so, as Daniel would, for as long as they were able.

The front door opening startled Daniel from his thoughts, and he turned to see Jack enter, stamping his feet on the mat, and shaking off the cold. It had started to snow again, and the small white flakes melted on Jack's hair and on his coat. Light glinted off them, amid the silverish grey, in small bursts, like miniature stars surrounding him, and Daniel felt his breath catch in his chest.

"Hey, give me a hand here," Jack said, gesturing with the paper sacks he carried, and Daniel crossed the room to take them from him. He carried them through to the kitchen and placed them on the counter, waiting awkwardly, as Jack shed his outerwear and put it away.

He was still standing there, when Jack came into the room a few minutes later.

"Why don't you put on some coffee, while I put this away, then we'll call for some pizza for dinner."

Daniel nodded and turned, busying himself with the grounds and filters. The hot drink would be welcome, no doubt fortified by some good Irish Whisky. He smiled at the thought. Coffee was almays a welcome refuge and pleasure.

Jack finished putting away the groceries, and stood watching Daniel. His head was tilted to the side a bit, and Daniel could feel the considering weight of his gaze. Jack was quiet, but Daniel knew he was weighing something, determining the lay of the land, an unconscious threat assessment that was as natural to him as breathing.

Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, or at least left him willing to let it go for now, because he just nodded to himself and then spoke. "I'm going to go lay the fire. Why don't you call for the pizza and then find something on TV. Whisky's in the same place, if you want it. I'll take one too, if you don't mind."

Daniel nodded, unsure of what to say and Jack nodded back then turned away to do as he had said.

 

Later, they were both reclining on the couch. The blaze of the fire, the heat of the coffee and alcohol, and their full bellies had warmed them, relaxed them. They were comfortable, at least physically. Emotionally, mentally, Daniel wasn't so sure. Jack laughed out loud at the television, and Daniel watched him and relaxed. Jack laughed with his whole body - the way he did everything, when he was comfortable. He saw the little lines that crinkled at the side of his eyes and the edges of his mouth. The lines had gotten deeper over the years, but they were a welcome sight.

When Jack was upset, those lines almost disappeared; his face became hard, stone-like, still. He became lifeless, betraying nothing to those who had not conversely seen him like this. It was a look that Daniel had seen him wear too often, especially lately.

Jack was seemingly absorbed in the flickering screen, tossing out zingy commentary at the animated frolicking of the holiday cartoon and Daniel chuckled along. His gaze was split between the television and his companion, and he knew Jack felt his gaze and was aware of his scrutiny, but Jack gave no indication of it. He just sat there and let him look, as if he knew what Daniel needed, had done the same himself. Daniel knew that he had. Daniel had seen and felt it too. He remembered those first few weeks where Jack stared at him, but refused to get close enough to touch him, unless necessary, as if Daniel were a mirage that would disappear under such tactile confirmation. They didn't talk about it; they just accepted it - like now.

Jack took a sip of his coffee and licked his lips to catch the stray drops. Daniel's hands tightened on his own mug, and he blinked hard, startled. Jack took a deep breath and turned in his seat on the side of the couch. He looked back at Daniel, and caught his gaze - waiting, weighing, assessing. Daniel just flushed and lowered his eyes to his cup. Jack just sighed, pursing his lips, as if looking for something to say. Then he stood, and reached out his hand.

Daniel took at and Jack pulled him up, speaking, "Come on, Daniel. Let's start the wine."

Daniel followed him, and Jack began pulling out the bottles and spices, while Daniel readied the pan. He wasn't surprised - exactly - to see some of his own cookware and utensils mixed in with Jack's. He knew that Jack had kept a lot of his stuff, and even used some of it, but it was an intimate thing - as if they had set up housekeeping together - each time he found the things that had been his mingled with Jack's. These scatterred remnants of his previous life were evidence of a time that he had trouble reconciling with his current situation, yet were strangley comforting.

They worked well together, in the kitchen and out of it. Even in the field, they were often more in synch than they appeared, despite their disparate natures. This was nothing new to them. No, it was tradition. Daniel mulled the red wine, and Jack got down the special mugs that Daniel never saw the rest of the year. Jack pulled out a ready-made deli platter, with cubed cheeses and meats, and crackers. Even though they weren't hungry, they would nibble on the snacks while they talked or not, drinking the warm wine, and listening to Tchaikovsky on Jack's sound system.

The last was Daniel's contribution. _The Nutcracker_ was one of his memories and traditions that he had shared with Jack. He wasn't a huge fan of the ballet, and Jack was more of a classical fan with his large opera collection, than Daniel was, but it had been his mother's favorite. He had seen it performed several times, by different companies, large and small, in different parts of the world. Sugar plum faeries and toy soldiers were some of his happier memories and always connected him to the season.

Just like the smell of pine and a bare tree with a single star connected him to it - to home. He was home. Daniel felt the realization wash over him, and froze mid-motion to look at Jack. Home. Not Abydos. Not even Earth. Not the SGC, nor his lost loft, or any other place that he might name. Home was here, in this time, in this place, with this person. Jack was his home.

His eyes were locked with Jack's, and neither moved. Daniel didn't realize that he had breathed the word aloud, "Home," before Jack was at his side, the wine and mugs forgotten.

Slowly, Daniel saw Jack reach for him, and he didn't dare move, in case Jack changed his mind. Jack's hand cupped his cheek and the side of his jaw, and Daniel relaxed into the touch. His eyes slid closed, and his breathing slowed. He felt a peace come upon him that he hadn't felt before, and he lifted his hand to place it over Jack's. Then he opened his eyes.

Jack seemed to know, to feel, the same. They shared the moment, and then Jack was there, closer, leaning toward him. He met him halfway. Their lips brushed against each other - the briefest of touches. It could have been considered chaste, but it wasn't. After, they leaned towards each other, inclining their foreheads together, sharing the same space, the same warm breath.

Then Jack stepped back and turned off the stove. He gave Daniel a jaunty half-smile and then moved toward the doorway. He paused on the threshold, and looked back to Daniel.

"Coming?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll bring the wine."

Jack nodded and smiled again, a huge smile that creased those little lines near his lips and his deep brown eyes, and Daniel found himself smiling in return.

Daniel carried the mugs into the living room. Jack turned away from the stereo and the sounds of the ballet began to dance through the room. Jack sat down on a blanket that he had laid in front of the fire and gestured for Daniel to join him.

They sat close to each other, and sipped the spicy wine. Jack pulled him close, laying his arm around Daniel's shoulders. They drank and watched the fire, and held their vigil together. They didn't talk.

Some things were best heard in silence.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://panthermoon.com/dreaming/viewstory.php?sid=121>  



End file.
